


Emergency Stop

by SegaBarrett



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson
Genre: Elevator Sex, M/M, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 01:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13307124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Freddie and Anatoly are trapped in an elevator in Bangkok.





	Emergency Stop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Chess, and I make no money from this.

Freddie Trumper had run for the elevator without much thought. He was always on the go, always ready to rush off to the next locale and the next match.   
Since he had started at Global Television, he was still rushing, but there didn’t seem to be as much of an endpoint anymore, or an endgame. There wasn’t a way to “win”, anymore, just a way to try to keep from losing.

It was depressing.

But if he stayed in one place for long enough, he’d start thinking about even more depressing things, and there was no point in that.

The doors were nearly slamming shut by the time Freddie shoved his arm in, just long enough to picture the doors closing on his arm and dragging him upwards. Thankfully, it just forced the doors to open and allowed him to slip inside, shoving an old man with a cane to the side.

It was then that he saw the third occupant of the elevator. 

He was standing straight up, not leaning on the wall, looking straight ahead. When he saw Freddie, his shoulders slumped just a little, and Freddie considered it a personal win. Damned Soviets, always so perfectly postured.

The old man, of course, stepped off at the next floor, leaving Freddie uncomfortably pressed against the wall, trying to get as far away from Anatoly Sergievsky as he possibly could. 

What was he supposed to say, anyhow?

“Congratulations on the win and stealing my second, good to see you again, welcome to Bangkok?” 

Better to step off at the next floor, too – but running away from a confrontation, even when it was the safest course of action, was not something Freddie was known for doing.

Instead, he snarled, “Enjoying the nightlife? People keep telling me about everything in Bangkok besides the chess.”

“I guess you’re too pure and above it all,” Anatoly replied. “Why are you bothering to talk to me, if so?”

He was smooth as silk, the Russian bastard.

“Maybe I just like to watch the Titanic go down,” Freddie shot back. He began to feel a creeping dread up his back – why wasn’t this elevator moving faster? There were only six more floors to go, for Freddie at least. 

The elevator lurched to a stop with a metallic shriek reminiscent of the sound of a dentist’s drill, and with a force that threw Freddie forward, directly in front of Anatoly.

“What the hell!” Freddie hissed, pushing at the wall and letting out a startled whine.

The Russian’s face curled into a surprised yet amused smile, and Freddie wanted to throw something at him. Not fair, that even the elevator walked to plot against him. Maybe he was paranoid but the world at large seemed to continue to prove him right about it. 

The elevator stayed stalled, the door not opening nor any indication occurring that it was moving at all. Freddie draped one arm over the other and began to shake.

“Don’t get so upset,” Anatoly told him. “I’m sure they’re working on it.”

“Hopefully not at the speed they fix shit in your country,” Freddie fired back.

Anatoly rolled his eyes. 

“You’re freaking out, Trumper. There’s no need.”

“There is a need. We’re trapped.” Freddie threaded his fingers together and shuddered in his spot. “Nobody even knows we’re in here. If no one comes to look for us, then we’re here, we’re here and…”

“Trumper,” Anatoly said again, reaching up and clasping his hand over the American’s mouth. 

Freddie glared at him, offended, and still tried to sneak against the hand.

He was still thinking of something snippy to say when Anatoly replace the hand over his face with his lips. 

Freddie let out a squeak of surprise but, to his own surprise, not of fear. He could feel his ass pressed against the wall and his cock suddenly throbbed; he was trapped here, trapped with the Russian. 

His mouth dropped open when Anatoly stepped back.

“What the hell was that?” Freddie asked.

“It distracted you, did it not?” 

The Russian accent made the words sound even cockier, if that was possible. 

But something was stirring in Freddie, too, something he wasn’t sure that he liked but also wasn’t sure that he didn’t like. So he said nothing, simply stared forward at the other man, wishing that the elevator would start moving again soon.

Otherwise, he would have to make a decision that he wasn’t ready to make.

“I could distract you some more… if you would like,” Anatoly offered. He was standing far too close for Freddie’s comfort. Pictures were running through Freddie’s head, pictures of what it would be like if he let the words “yes” slip out of his mouth right now. His cheeks were hot, flushed. 

Maybe he just needed to close his eyes and let it happen. Perhaps it would be enough to simply not say “no”, to chalk it up later to just a thing that happened in a time and a place that would neve need to happen again. Because he had to be crazy, as crazy as they all thought he was, to be considering letting Anatoly fuck him right here and right now in the middle of an elevator. But if not now, then when?

He closed his eyes but at first nothing happened.

Then there was breath on his neck and a touch on his hip, not too forceful but an invitation nonetheless.

Before he could think about it a second longer, Freddie cried out, “Yes! Do it!”

His eyes flew open in time to watch as Anatoly unbuttoned Freddie’s pants and guided him to the floor. The Russian man’s own pants came next at an almost frenetic pace.

Freddie allowed himself a thought about how un-chess-like the proceedings were. More like hockey, or badminton, or something else that mainly consisted of banging around.

Freddie rolled over on to his hands and knees, straining his neck to try and watch the elevator door. If it were to open now… but he decided he didn’t care anymore. This was happening.

His boxers were yanked down next, and Freddie tried to still his breathing as Anatoly spat on his hand and rubbed a finger against the crack of Freddie’s ass.

“Wow,” he grumbled, “That’s cold… Your hands are cold.”

“Stop complaining,” Anatoly fired back, slipping the tip of his finger inside.

Freddie gasped.

“Cold,” he said again, but it wasn’t all he felt – there was something of giving himself up, of letting go.

He didn’t have much time to philosophize on it further, as a second finger joined the first and both began to thrust. Freddie lowered himself a little further to take the strain off of his knees, simply laid down on the ground.

“Do it!” he pleaded. They didn’t have much time – or they had all the time in the world, he wasn’t sure which.

“Do what?” Anatoly’s smile was even more insufferable than his accent.

“Fuck me, you red ass…”

“You’re going to be the one with the red ass,” Anatoly chuckled, running his hand over his cock. When did that get out, Freddie wondered hazily. 

“Dare you….”

Freddie’s breath nearly got knocked out of him when Anatoly pushed inside him. He cried out, looking for something to grab on to but finding nothing except the dingy elevator floor. He sucked in a breath desperately, letting his eyes ship shut as the other man allowed him to adjust.

“Still alive down there?”

“Yeah,” Freddie murmured. “For now.”

Anatoly seemed to take that as permission to move, and Freddie found himself flailing again, crying out again as the other man rubbed against some spot inside him that was sensitive and perfect and painful and raw.

It wasn’t long before Freddie felt the ground wet beneath him, sticky and cold. There was something warm inside him too, cooling as Anatoly pulled out.  
Freddie heard himself whine. 

“Stay.”

“Can’t,” Anatoly told him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I hear them outside. They’re opening the door.” He offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. “This was fun, Freddie. We’ll need a rematch sometime.”

Freddie opened his mouth to ask what that rematch would entail, but it was time to get dressed.

He’d have plenty of time in Bangkok, anyway. And all the elevators probably worked just as badly – at least, he hoped so.


End file.
